


(to get there means) crossing a line

by shineyma



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, F/M, Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 06:05:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15382314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shineyma/pseuds/shineyma
Summary: Skye knows there's something wrong with this picture.





	(to get there means) crossing a line

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? Writing is hard, y'all.

The last time Jemma was interrogated, she couldn’t afford to lie.

This time, she can’t afford honesty.

“I’m loyal to Hydra,” she informs the table. And Coulson, of course, but for all he seems to be listening, she really might as well be only addressing the table.

(In any case, the table is easier to talk to. _It_ doesn’t look at her with those old, sad eyes, full of questions she can’t answer and trust she doesn’t deserve.)

“Why did you run?” Coulson asks again.

“Because I’m loyal to Hydra,” she says.

Coulson’s chair creaks as he shifts in it. She still doesn’t look up. “How long have you been ‘loyal to Hydra’?”

Even without looking at him, she’s fairly certain he made air quotes as he said that. It almost makes her smile.

“Always. Since the beginning,” she says.

Lies, really. They both know she’s lying. She didn’t even know Hydra _existed_ until days after she was dragged out of the Hub.

But the truth is too dangerous to share. Far, far too dangerous. It will be better for them all if she can convince Coulson that she’s truly a traitor—if she can drive him to lock her in a cell and throw away the key.

“You don’t sound too sure of yourself there,” he observes, and she wants to swear. Of all the things she was forced to learn in her time with Hydra, why couldn’t lying have made the list? “Do they have something on you?”

Jemma’s heart stutters. She forces herself to breathe through her fear— _that_ , she’s learnt very well.

“I’m loyal to Hydra,” she says instead of answering directly, because _this_ is true. She _is_ loyal to Hydra.

She has to be.

“Have they threatened you?” Coulson asks—softly, gently.

It reminds her of the moments before the Bus took flight from Morocco, when he was so concerned about her possible reaction—how he promised that they could land at any time, that she need only say the word if the stress of being back in the air so soon after her fall proved too great.

Tears burn at her eyes.

“I’m loyal to Hydra,” she repeats, rather less evenly.

“You’re a terrible liar, Jemma,” he says. She can hear the smile in his voice—and, worse, hear how it’s missing when he continues, “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the truth.”

“I _am_ telling you the truth,” she insists. “I’m loyal to Hydra.”

Coulson sighs, but—thankfully—they’re interrupted before he can press her any further. The door opens after only a brief knock, and May steps in.

The cut on her temple has been sutured since Jemma saw her last, but that does nothing to alleviate the guilt that curdles in her stomach. It’s because of Jemma she was injured at all—because she was trying to rescue her and didn’t expect her to run _away_.

Perhaps May is angry about that, because she doesn’t even glance at Jemma before announcing, “Morse is ready for her.”

“Okay,” Coulson says, scooting his chair back to stand. “We’ll finish this later, Simmons. I hope you’ll be more honest with me then.”

Not likely, Jemma doesn’t say. She also doesn’t ask who Morse is or what they might be ready for—mostly because she assumes she’ll find out soon enough.

Instead, she keeps her silence as the guards uncuff her from the table (although, as loosely as the handcuffs were locked around her wrists, she probably could have saved them the trouble and simply slid her hands out) and pull her to her feet.

“Gently,” Coulson reminds them.

In all honesty, Jemma would prefer rough treatment—it would make everything so much easier—but gentle is exactly what she gets for the walk through the corridors. Skye even appears for a quick hug (for the fifth time since she was caught; she kept darting back to squeeze Jemma on the flight here) before being pulled away by Coulson.

There’s no sign of Fitz, though. She saw him only briefly when she was first led in, and she fears she gave too much away when their eyes met. He’s always been able to read her as easily as a child’s book; there’s no telling what he might have seen on her face.

He couldn’t possibly _know_ , but…still. She worries.

Too much is at stake. A single wrong step could cost her everything.

All of the corridors here are identical, as winding and confusing as any SHIELD (or Hydra) base ever was, but the bricks and metal where she’d expect plaster and concrete add a touch of surrealism that puts her off balance.

That’s the only excuse she has for how long it takes her to realize that the lab she’s led to is no lab at all. It is, in fact, an infirmary.

“Hi,” a tall blonde woman says, stepping forward to meet Jemma with a smile. “I’m Bobbi Morse. I’ll be giving you your physical.”

“Physical?” Jemma echoes, experiencing a sudden pang of dread.

“Nothing too scary,” Morse promises. “We lost a prisoner once to a suicide pill, so we like to take some precautions. I’ve already got the blood sample they took on the Quinjet running, so this’ll be over quick, okay?”

Well.

Bugger.

 

 

+++

 

 

There’s something wrong with this picture.

“No way,” Skye says, as the Simmons on screen insists she’s loyal to Hydra. “No _way_. Simmons wouldn’t be Hydra in a million years. There’s something else going on.”

“No kidding,” Coulson agrees. He rewinds the footage and plays it again, not that he really needs to; they’ve already watched it so many times that Skye can mouth along with every (ridiculous) word.

_“Why did you run?”_

_“Because I’m loyal to Hydra.”_

_“How long have you been loyal to Hydra?”_

_“Always. Since the beginning.”_

“It can’t be brainwashing.” Skye crosses her arms, eyes tracing the tense line of Simmons’ shoulders in the video. It’s easier than looking at her face, watching her lower lip tremble like she’s about to cry while she swears loyalty to _Hydra_. “Can it?”

“No,” Coulson says. “A brainwashed agent really would be Hydra-loyal, and Simmons obviously isn’t.”

“Unless she’s playing you,” Mack offers. “Pretending not to be sure of herself so you’ll have doubts and take it easy on her.”

There’s maybe a little disapproval in his voice (they _have_ been taking it easy on Simmons, after all), but Skye chooses to ignore it. He and Hunter and Bobbi just don’t get it. They’ve never met Simmons; they don’t understand how impossible it is that she could ever be their enemy.

Simmons is a _victim_. Hydra stole her right out of the Hub, took advantage of her being alone and defenseless in the chaos of the uprising and has done god knows what to her since.

She’s not the enemy. She’s just not.

“Maybe,” Coulson says, but he doesn’t sound like he believes it any more than Skye does.

“Incentives program?” she suggests.

Coulson leans back against his desk. “It’s the most likely option, but…”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “But.”

If Skye was the kind of twisted psycho who uses people’s families against them to make them do what she wants, the first person she’d grab to use against Simmons would be Fitz. But he’s safe, here in the Playground, and he’s _been_ safe since before Hydra grabbed Simmons. He’s also been having weekly calls with Simmons’ parents (who apparently know and love him enough that that’s _not_ weird, even though it sounds it to Skye—but then, what does she know about parents?), so they’re not in Hydra custody, either.

So the three most likely options are out, and so are the next three: Coulson, May, and Skye herself.

But if it’s not brainwashing and it’s not the Incentives program…what does that leave?

“Sir?” It’s Hunter, leaning around the door and wearing a grim frown. “Bobbi wants you in the lab. She’s found something.”

“Something in Simmons’ physical?” Coulson asks sharply, straightening.

“Uh, yeah,” Hunter says. “You’re…gonna wanna hear this from her.”

That _cannot_ be good. Coulson must be feeling the same kind of overwhelming dread Skye is, because while they don’t exactly run to the lab, they don’t really _walk_ , either.

Simmons isn’t in quarantine when they arrive, which is a good sign. She’s sitting on an exam bed, legs crossed and head in her hands. And if _that_ gives Skye a chill in remembrance of the Chitauri virus, there’s no time to dwell on it; Bobbi’s with them in seconds, abandoning Fitz, who she’d been talking to off in the corner.

He looks upset. _Really_ upset. Something clenches hard in Skye’s stomach.

“What is it?” Coulson demands before Bobbi can even open her mouth. “Kill switch?”

She shakes her head, lips drawn tight. “Prolactin and oxytocin.”

Neither word means anything to Skye, but after a year of life with science geeks, she’s learned to pick out familiar syllables and use those as a starting point. And while she’s not sure about oxytocin, it sounds a lot like oxycontin.

So she takes a guess.

“Simmons is on drugs?” she asks uncertainly.

“Simmons is _breastfeeding_ ,” Bobbi corrects.

Skye could swear her heart stops. “ _What_?”

“Prolactin and oxytocin are two of the many hormones that make lactation possible,” Bobbi says calmly—calmly! Like Skye’s head isn’t spinning and Coulson isn’t clutching a chair like he’s about to either fall over or pick it up and throw it. “They’re not definitive proof, but between the levels present in her bloodwork and some…other signs, I’d say it’s highly likely that Simmons is actively breastfeeding. If I had to guess?”

“You do,” Coulson confirms, voice scary quiet.

“Based on her bloodwork and a cursory physical examination,” Bobbi says, “my best guess is that she gave birth about three months ago.”

And that—that is—

Coulson’s opening his mouth, probably to ask a _lot_ of questions, but Skye doesn’t stick around to hear them. She _can’t_.

Instead, she goes straight over to Simmons’ bed, plops down next to her, and hugs her as tight as she can.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “Jemma, I—I’m _so sorry_.”

Because suddenly, everything makes sense. Her insistence that she’s Hydra loyal, the way she ran from them, how terrified she looked when they caught her…

Hydra has her _baby_.

Simmons doesn’t react at first, but Skye just keeps holding on, and after a second, Simmons melts right into her, clinging so tight it hurts. She’s shaking in Skye’s arms and there are tears soaking through Skye’s shirt, and it takes everything Skye’s got not to cry right along with her.

“We’re gonna fix this,” she swears. “We’re gonna get your baby and we’re gonna burn Hydra to the ground and everything’s gonna be _fine_ , okay? I promise.”

She can’t promise that, not really, but she’s doing it anyway. She doesn’t care if she has to personally shoot every single Hydra agent on Earth in the _face_ ; she’s gonna make this right.

Simmons just goes on crying.

 

 

+++

 

 

The next interrogation is even gentler than the first—and much more casual. They gather in the living room, Simmons squashed between Skye and Fitz on the couch and Coulson perching on the coffee table in front of them.

“I can’t—won’t—tell you anything about Hydra,” Simmons says, quietly but firmly, as soon as they’re all settled. “I’m sorry, but I can’t risk it. I can’t guarantee Hydra doesn’t have spies here, and if they suspect for even a moment that I’ve given you anything…”

“We understand,” Coulson assures her. “I would never ask you to endanger…?”

“Charlotte,” she supplies as he trails off. “Her name is Charlotte.”

“Pretty name,” Skye offers weakly.

Simmons’ answering smile is even weaker, but it’s definitely better than tears. Skye’ll take it.

The following silence is tense. Fitz opens his mouth like he’s gonna speak, then closes it and moves even closer to Simmons. Between him and Skye, she must be feeling a little crowded, but it doesn’t seem like she minds; in response to Fitz’s shift, she loops her arm through his and then rests her head on Skye’s shoulder.

“She’s gorgeous,” she says, and the soft tone doesn’t disguise the tremor in her voice.

“Do you…get to see her often?” Skye asks tentatively.

Simmons hides her face in Skye’s shoulder for a second, then takes a deep breath and sits up.

“Not as often as I’d like,” she admits. “But they let me see her more frequently when I—when I’ve completed something important.”

Nobody really knows what to say to that, Skye guesses. She sure doesn’t.

Eventually, Coulson sits forward.

“How long do we have?” he asks.

For a heartbeat, Skye’s confused by his grim tone—and then she realizes the obvious. Hydra is using Charlotte to make Simmons cooperate and reward her when she does, but Simmons is _here_. If Hydra gives up on her…if they decide they’re not getting her back…

Hydra is evil. They’re not gonna take care of Charlotte out of the goodness of their hearts. If Charlotte’s rescue takes too long…they’ll kill her before SHIELD can get anywhere near her.

“I—” Simmons stops, pressing her lips together. “I can’t—”

“It’s okay,” Fitz interrupts, leveling a glare on Coulson. “You don’t have to answer that.”

Coulson’s nod of agreement comes a beat too late; he’s got his thinking face on, and Skye can’t help a sudden rush of hope. Miracles tend to get pulled out of people’s pockets once Coulson gets plotting.

Fitz obviously hasn’t noticed the thinking face (he wouldn’t look so suspicious still if he had), but he subsides at Coulson’s nod, settling back into Simmons’ side. Skye cuddles a little closer herself; she’s _missed_ Simmons, has worried over her every single day since the uprising, and panic over poor baby Charlotte can’t diminish her relief at having her best friend here and mostly whole.

For a  few minutes, the conversation moves into slightly safer territory as Simmons describes the conditions Charlotte’s kept in (“A nursery with three other children, all Incentives assets. There’s an external door just down the hall that leads to an inner landing pad—the better to spirit them away, I suppose, if anyone attempts to rescue them”) and Fitz excitedly fills her in on the improvements he’s made to the Quinjets’ cloaking devices: improvements that might just let them sneak a Quinjet onto that landing pad without Hydra’s notice.

Eventually, though, Coulson shakes off his thoughts (because he’s finished his plotting, Skye hopes) and rejoins the conversation.

“I’m not asking you to name names,” he says slowly. “In fact, you absolutely shouldn’t. But tell me: is Charlotte’s father a prisoner of Hydra, too?”

Skye feels Simmons’ breath catch. A second later, there are nails digging into her thigh as Simmons grips it in some attempt, she guesses, to keep control of herself.

“No,” Simmons says in a careful, deliberate tone that gives Skye flashbacks to a lie about a sandwich. “He is not.”

Ohhh. Oh no. Skye’s pretty sure that means he _is_.

But wait. Maybe that’s not a bad thing? If Charlotte’s being used against her dad, too, that means Hydra’ll be less likely to kill her over Simmons being gone, right?

Right?

God, Skye hopes so.

“Oh, good,” Coulson says, holding Simmons’ gaze steadily. “That’s a relief.”

“Yes,” Simmons agrees without breaking eye contact. “It certainly is.”

Something’s obviously passing between them—something more than the knowledge that Charlotte’s dad definitely _is_ a prisoner—but heck if Skye can tell what it is. She leans forward a little to check Fitz’s face and isn’t comforted to find he looks just as lost as she is.

What are they missing here?

“I bet he was excited when he found out,” Coulson says. “Eager to tell his family?”

Simmons’ face crumples and then firms back up just as fast.

“Yes,” she says, kinda tearily. “He told his father right away.”

What does that have to do with anything? Skye has _so many_ questions—but before she can even begin to wonder if she should ask them, Coulson is slapping his knees and standing.

“Well,” he says, “I think that’s enough for today. We don’t wanna push you too hard. Fitz, why don’t you show Simmons to an empty room so she can get some rest?”

Fitz looks from Coulson to Simmons and back, eyes narrowed in suspicion, but eventually nods.

“Sure,” he says. “That okay with you, Jemma?”

“Yes.” Simmons sounds a little faint, but she’s steady enough as she pulls out of their embrace to stand. Skye follows suit, mostly in the interests of not being the only one sitting. “Some rest would be lovely.”

“This way, then,” Fitz says, and—after exchanging one last confused look with Skye—leads her out of the living room.

Plausible deniability in mind, Skye waits until they’re out of earshot to demand, “Okay, what did I just miss? What do you and Simmons know that Fitz and I don’t?”

“Quite a bit, I’d imagine,” Coulson says mildly, “but for the purposes of this conversation?”

“Uh, _yeah_.”

Coulson sobers. “What you don’t know is the identity of Charlotte’s father.”

“And you do?” Skye asks. “ _How_?”

And why does it make him look so sad?

“Because I know that she and Ward started sleeping together after you were shot.”

 _Ward_? But—

No. Nonononono.

Skye’s heart drops straight to her feet; a second later, her knees fail her and _she_ falls, right back onto the couch.

“No,” she says—croaks, really. “No, that’s—but if Ward’s the father—”

She can’t say it…but she also can’t stop herself from thinking it.

Because if Charlotte’s dad is a prisoner…and _Ward_ is Charlotte’s dad…

That means he was never a traitor at all. It means that all this time she’s spent hating him, all this time she’s wished he was dead—

“Oh, god,” she whispers. “I’m gonna be sick.”

His father. He told his father right away. Garrett was the closest thing he had to a father, he told her that once. But Garrett was the Clairvoyant.

So Ward handed Garrett—handed _Hydra_ —the perfect leverage over him, right in time for the uprising.

Shit.

“That’s why they took Simmons from the Hub,” she says. She wonders if this is how Simmons and Fitz feel all the time, what being a genius is like: everything is just slotting into place, tiny pieces of a puzzle that’s been haunting her for months suddenly aligning into a whole, terrible picture. “It wasn’t just because it was convenient. It was so they could use Ward against us.”

“Yeah,” Coulson says heavily. He looks old suddenly; old and tired and sad. “She was probably gone before we even reached Florida.”

Florida. Where Ward shot Nash because he ‘didn’t have a choice.’

God. He really didn’t, did he?

And speaking of not having a choice—remembering what happened on the Bus, Skye’s stomach churns so badly that for a second she’s afraid she really is gonna puke. He was so desperate for her to unlock that hard drive. He didn’t even _blink_ when Mike held a gun to his head to force her into it.

She thought it was because he was just crazy, a true believer in Hydra’s sick cause, but it wasn’t, was it? It was because of Simmons—Simmons and their daughter. Of _course_ he couldn’t defend himself—or even Skye—when his unborn daughter’s _life_ was on the line!

And Mexico City—

“Don’t think about it,” Coulson orders, yanking her out of her spiraling thoughts.

Skye looks up at him, helpless and sick. “How can I _not_?”

“By focusing on the mission,” he says. “By channeling all that guilt and anger into keeping the promise you made Simmons earlier.”

Oh. Oh yeah.

He’s right. This is no time for moping.

“The one about saving Charlotte?” she asks. Not that it’s really in doubt; she just feels like she should say _something_.

Coulson smiles his small, placid smile—the one that’s tricked probably hundreds of people into mistaking him for some harmless government stooge. Skye fell for it, too, the first time they met.

Now? Now she knows better. Now it makes her grin—automatically, reflexively, just because she knows something _good_ is coming.

“That too,” he says. “But actually, I was talking about burning Hydra to the ground.”

Oh, yeah. That’s definitely a mission Skye can get behind.

“When do we start?”

 

 

+++

 

 

The answer, unfortunately, is _not soon_. There are too many variables in play to rush this—first and foremost being Simmons’ very valid fear that the first move SHIELD makes against Hydra will see Charlotte murdered. For as long as it takes to get Charlotte safely away, Hydra needs to believe that this has nothing at all to do with her mother…and storming Hydra HQ just hours after said mother was rescued would be sure to tip them off.

So they wait.

And plan. There’s a _lot_ of planning happening.

Operation: Rescue is two-pronged and has to be really, really precisely timed. If they take too long getting to Ward after Charlotte is rescued, Hydra will probably kill him…but there’s no way he’ll come with them if Charlotte _hasn’t_ been rescued. Simmons they managed to chase down and capture, but nobody thinks for a second they could pull that off with Ward.

He’d probably kill them all rather than leave his daughter in danger, and while nobody could exactly _blame_ him for that, they’re not in a hurry to die.

So, yeah. Timing.

And then, of course, there’s the other thing: Charlotte’s not even close to the only asset Hydra’s keeping prisoner, and SHIELD’s not about to abandon the rest of them. So it’s not a _go in, get Charlotte, flee_ kind of op; it’s a _go in, rescue_ everybody _, flee_ kind of op, and that takes a whole other level of planning and logistics.

Basically, it’s a mess.

Good thing messes are SHIELD’s specialty.

 

 

+++

 

 

When the moment of truth finally arrives, Jemma waits in a Quinjet.

She doesn’t want to. What she _wants_ is to storm the building herself, storm it and grab her daughter and slit the throats of any who’d threaten her. To do otherwise—to wait here, able to do nothing more than listen in over the comms while the rescue teams move in—is torture.

However, it’s also the safest way. There’s no telling what sort of failsafes Hydra might have or how quickly they might be activated, and Jemma won’t risk Charlotte being killed if she should be spotted as part of the rescue team. It’s better to wait safely out of sight and trust the rescue teams to do their jobs.

Better. But hardly easy.

Just allowing this op to be planned has been the hardest thing she’s ever done. She couldn’t bring herself to provide much in the way of intel beyond the base’s layout, too frightened that Hydra would somehow discern her disloyalty and punish Charlotte for it. She’s petrified she’s doomed her daughter in this attempt to save her; safe with her old team in that new base of theirs, she’s slept worse than she ever did in the heart of Hydra.

She’s spent the last three weeks tormented by nightmares of her sweet baby girl dead in her cradle—and even now, if she closes her eyes, those awful images spring instantly to mind.

It’s a risk. It’s such a horrible, horrible risk.

She can only hope that Grant is valuable enough to Hydra that they’ll hesitate to hurt Charlotte for fear of losing him.

“We’re approaching target alpha,” one of the agents on rescue reports quietly. “Echo Team, what’s your position?”

“Almost in place,” a member of Echo Team answers. “Charlie, you got those bombs set?”

“Locking the last one in,” is the response. “Ready to move on your signal, boss.”

It would be better if _Grant_ had been rescued and _Jemma_ left prisoner, she thinks; surely he wouldn’t dither the way she has. Grant would have the courage and the expertise to give the team everything they needed, and he’d have done it on the very first day—directly, not through poorly-told lies and implications the way she did.

Charlotte would be safe by now if Grant had been in Jemma’s place.

And speaking of Grant—

“I’ve got eyes on Ward,” Skye announces over the radio. She’s on one of the other teams, the ones that followed the reports of Grant being spotted in the field. They can’t move until Charlotte has been recovered, but once she has, they’ll be in position to inform Grant immediately.

Jemma imagines Grant’s handlers will be slaughtered in short order. Once upon a time, the thought would have bothered her; now, it just brings on a rush of satisfaction.

“Okay,” an agent says. “On three. One—”

“Two,” another agent (Jemma doesn’t know any of these people, these new agents Coulson rescued from the cold while she was stuck in it) breathes.

‘Three,’ when it comes, is spoken by May…and immediately followed by a series of explosions that rock the whole building.

 _Intentional_ explosions, thankfully. Jemma doesn’t know what she’d do if something went wrong at this stage, with Charlotte’s freedom so close at hand.

Not that there’s anything she can do even with things going _right_. She sits there in the Quinjet, listening to the shouts coming over the comms as teams Alpha through Gamma do their work. Shouts and gunfire and chaos.

All Jemma can do is wait.

The nursery is just down the hall from the exit to the landing pad, so in theory, it should take Alpha Team only a matter of minutes to fetch the children being held there.

In practice, it feels like years—years in which Jemma’s heart pounds fit to burst right out of her chest.

But even years eventually pass, and finally— _finally_ —Jemma hears what she’s been waiting for.

“Objective Alpha secure,” a male agent announces. “Making our exit now.”

A century—a millennium—an _eternity_ passes, and then there are boots pounding on the landing pad and up the Quinjet’s ramp, and then—then—

Then May walks up the ramp, carrying Charlotte.

“Oh,” Jemma breathes, tears blurring her vision, and rushes to accept her wailing daughter—whose pitiful crying ceases the moment Jemma takes her into her arms.

She thought nothing could make this better, but oh, that does. Every time she’s forced to leave Charlotte, no matter how long the separation ends up being, she always fears that her daughter will forget her. In the endless parade of faces passing through her daughter’s life as a hostage, can Jemma’s really stand out?

Yes, as it turns out. She’s been reassured time and again that Charlotte _recognizes_ her, and nothing comforts Jemma more than this: that no matter the level of Charlotte’s distress, just the sight of Jemma will quiet her instantly.

“Oh, my darling,” she whispers, as Charlotte sniffles. “I’m so sorry I’ve been gone. I’m so sorry.”

Quiet though Charlotte may be, it’s obvious she’s still upset—and no wonder, after all the running and shouting she’s just experienced—and in need of comfort.

“Hold her for a moment,” she requests of May, who looks briefly startled.

Little wonder; Jemma didn’t intend on letting Charlotte go for the next _week_ , let alone mere seconds after accepting her.

“Just for a moment,” she promises, and passes Charlotte back to May.

Charlotte wails.

“Just a moment, darling,” Jemma repeats, and—careless of the many strange men and women around her—hurriedly unbuttons her blouse. “I’m still right here. Thank you, May.”

“I’m glad she’s okay,” May says under Charlotte’s crying as she passes her back.

“Me too,” Jemma agrees, and pulls her daughter in close once more, that she might be comforted by Jemma’s warm, bare skin and steady heartbeat.

Charlotte continues crying for a bit—Jemma fancies it sounds a bit accusatory—but subsides quickly enough.

“That’s right, my love,” Jemma says, retaking her seat. “Mummy’s right here and we’re safe now, aren’t we?”

She wraps one side of her shirt around Charlotte, the better to keep her warm as the Quinjet ascends. The mission is still on-going, but no one wanted the babies just lingering on the landing pad as the building was stormed; this Quinjet will return to base immediately, and—hopefully—Quinjets holding the other children’s parents will follow shortly.

And then there’s the other mission. She’s distantly aware of the click of a camera phone’s shutter, and far more presently aware at a sudden spike of noise from the comms.

“Hey, Ward!” Skye is hollering. “Yeah, you! Agent Cheekbones!”

It makes Jemma smile, remembering happier days on the Bus, and her heart soars when Charlotte smiles up at her in return. It’s not her first smile, but each one feels just like the original—a treasured gift Jemma never expected to receive.

“Your daddy will be joining us soon,” Jemma promises her.

“Get a load of this,” Skye says as she (Jemma presumes) passes Grant the photographic evidence of Charlotte’s rescue.

There’s a pause, and then a sudden chorus of alarmed voices over the comm. Skye _oooooooo_ s.

“Agent Skye?” the agent running the comms—Jemma was introduced to her, but can’t quite bring her name to mind—asks sharply.

“Um,” Skye says. “Ward’s a little…busy.”

Jemma smiles and bends to kiss Charlotte’s forehead. Oh, yes. She just bets he is.

“Busy?” the comms agent echoes.

“Yeeeeeah,” Skye says. “Um. We’re…not gonna be taking any prisoners here. All the actual Hydra goons are gonna be just…super dead.” There’s a pause. “Eventually.”

“Yeah,” another agent agrees. “I think we’re just gonna…let Ward finish in his own time.”

“Goddamn,” yet another whistles. “You think he’d show me that move if I asked nice?”

Jemma laughs and relaxes back into her seat, heart lighter than it’s been in a year or more.

As Charlotte drifts off in her arms and Grant takes his bloody vengeance on the other side of the comms…finally, for the first time, she can really, truly believe that everything is going to be all right.


End file.
